Sharp, Surgical or Medicinal
by Sad eyed Lady of The Low Life
Summary: ‘Of course you shot me. Who else would bloody well do it' Holmes and Watson banter etc. Bromance. Set just before the movie. One-shot.


Authors Note: This is a one-shot story. Came out of the blue due to the saying 'No shit Sherlock'. The saying might seem a bit too modern for the story but I like the idea of Watson coming up with it...

This is also a bromance! (or in the immortal words of J.D and Turk) Its guylove between two guys!

It's movie-verse and it set just before the movie. Also I make a point of having the V.R. being shot in the wall (but it doesn't have to been the same wall he's shooting at in the movie... there could be two walls with V.R. shot into them! ^_^)

Thanks to the ever wonderful Beta YummieTimelord for her speedy beta and quick eye for pointing out random wrongs!

Disclaimer: I did not come up with these wonderful characters - Arthur Conan Doyle did.... I just like writing them!

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Holmes sat in his favourite arm chair, curtains drawn, along with his revolver. The bullet holes in the shape of V.R. Closing one eye he aimed the gun again and finished off his beloved Victoria Regina, with one final shot.

A sudden yelp of pain resounded throughout the house and Sherlock quickly jumped up from his chair and sprinted to his flatmates room.

Barging through the door the sight that greeted him made him gasp.

'Watson!' Holmes shouted to his dear friend, currently lying on the ground, grasping his thigh in a vice like grip, blood trailing down his leg, a look of agony on his face. 'You appear to have been shot!'

Watson looked up at Holmes, anger blazing in his eyes. 'NO SHIT SHERLOCK!'

Holmes was taken aback. 'No need for such crude language John!' he chided.

'Well Holmes,' he gasped again in pain. 'How else would you like me to react, as you have amply put it, I'VE BEEN SHOT!'

Holmes quickly grabbed Watson medical bag and knelt down beside his injured friend with the intent of patching him up.

'NO!!' Watson shouted as he saw Holmes intentions. 'You are not touching me with anything sharp, surgical or medicinal!'

Holmes looked at his friend, highly insulted. As he stared down Watson he noticed the remains of a bullet on the floor on the corner.

'Ah Watson! It was only a graze!' he laughed.

'Only a g...' he started in disbelief. 'Only a GRAZE!!' he shouted. 'Regardless if it has been a graze or not I've been shot!'

'Well I promise to be more careful from now on, old boy.'

'WHAT?? This was you! You shot me.' He asked again, his pain momentarily forgotten as shock became his primary emotion.

Holmes guiltily ignored the question and Watson snatched the bag away from him.

'You're angry.' Holmes stated.

Watson looked at him with rage but didn't answer.

A moment of silence passed between the two. Holmes applied pressure to the wound as Watson searched his bag for the proper medical supplies.

'You shot me.' He repeated suddenly. Having a moment to think about what happened he continued. 'Why am I not surprised... I really am not in the slightest bit surprised.' He said through gritted teeth.

'Of course you shot me. Who else would bloody well do it? There is no other person on this planet who would find a way to SHOOT their friend by firing a bullet through his own bedroom wall that then happened to careen through the wall and then said bullet being abruptly stopped by my thigh then you Holmes.' He spat.

Holmes shrugged his shoulders. 'It could be worse I suppose.'

'It could be worse?' he asked in disbelief. 'Exactly how the hell could this be worse? It is not like I don't have enough to deal with, what with being shot at by all the people out for our blood and the fact that I can barely use this leg as it is, but you decide to add the danger of shooting at me yourself into the mix! And unlike the people out for our blood you actually succeed!'

'I wasn't shooting at you. You just happened to be in the path of the bullet.' Holmes answered him matter-of-factly.

Watson's head snapped up and growled dangerously. To him the distinction wasn't a consolation.

Holmes watched the top of Watson's head as he began searching his bag again, a grin playing on his lips.

'Here!' Watson growled thrusting a bandage into Holmes free hand.

Placing a stick between his teeth, Watson began threading a needle. Once done he nudge Holmes hand away from his wound, grabbing a scalpel he cut a larger hole in his pants. Holmes watched as Watson face tensed up in dread. He bit down harder on the stick between his teeth. Watson growled in anger as the needle went through his leg closing up the graze. When the final stitch was in place he let the stick drop unceremoniously from his mouth, and wrapped the bandage around the wound. He then proceeded to fall back onto the floor, breathing heavily.

'Come on my old boy, let's get some brandy into you.' Holmes went to his friend to help him up. He placed Watson's arm over his own shoulder, taking as much as the weight off his friends leg as possible and brought him into the sitting room, placing him in the chair by the fire.

Watson stared into the flames, anger still radiating from him.

'Here' Holmes said placing the brandy in his hand. 'Drink up and you'll be right as rain.'

'I'm moving out.' Watson stated in a monotone voice.

'What? Over such a trivial thing as a graze?' Holmes asked in anger.

'No.'

'Then why?' Holmes asked pacing the room.

'Mary and I are to be married.' Watson looked to Holmes for a reaction.

'But you hardly know her!'

'I know her well enough to want spend the rest of my life with her.'

'This is preposterous. You're doing this out of spite! You're annoyed with me.'

'This has been a long time coming Holmes my old chap.' Watson downed his brandy in one. The pain in his leg subsiding.

'Fine. Well I guess I'll need to find someone else to share the rent with I suppose.'

'I suppose you will.'

'When do you plan on leaving?' Holmes queried politely, trying to play down his hurt.

'Not for another month or so.' Watson answered looking up at Holmes. He could see the hurt there in his eyes.

Holmes nodded slowly and downed his brandy. 'Well I'm off to bed. You'll be able to manage I presume?'

Watson nodded lightly. 'Goodnight old boy.' He spoke lowly.

'Goodnight.' This was quickly followed by a barely audible. 'Sorry old chap.'

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Authors Note: I'm still not sure about the ending. Is it too sappy? Should I end it with the Brandy? Review and let me know what you think. Also reviews in general would be well appreciated... :-)


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